it's all in the movies i've seen
by tinted lens
Summary: Later that day, she asks, "are we more than friends now?" because she's honestly still not sure about that. -— pokkle&ponzu. au, fluff.


**title: **it's all in the movies i've seen**  
summary: **Later that day, she asks, "are we more than friends now?" because she's honestly still not sure about that. / Ponzu&Pokkle / au.  
**disclaimer: **do not own _hxh_. title from rilo kiley's beautiful song _sword_.

;;

—_it starts like this_;

;;

Here's the problem:

_they make too much sense_.

;;

She can't pinpoint _when_, exactly, did she fall in love (with him).

(because, _shh_, she doesn't believe in love at first sight.)

And it just goes downhill from there –

(- but in the very best way.)

;;

Here's how it _doesn't_ start:

He closes his eyes, leans in.

He inhales the scent of flowers and sugar from her skin as their hair melt and lips close, everything too-easily falling into place. He swears she pushes in first, holding onto him – skinny tiny hands clutching tightly – and when he opens his eyes again, he's lost inside her, spinning flashes, blurs of stars&bright lights&every shade of yellow reflecting in her wide blue eyes. Her lips curl into a smile as he feels her body, light and airy and a little free in his hands when she kisses him back and –

(he tastes honey&warm milk&sweetness on his tongue)

- and she thinks it is perfection.

;;

He walks her to class the next day, hands touching but nothing more.

That's what they are – _nothing more_.

;;

(_it never happened_, they say, silent but understood. The stars and the light and pretty colors are gone, just a little too fast, remaining nothing more than faded memories.)

Now it's just _her&him&perfect imperfection_.

(she makes the mistake of looking back.)

;;

One night, she slips her fingers between his.

(_warm_.)

They sit on the hood of his car, staring blankly at the sky, as if trying to find the edge of it. He offers her his jacket, even though he's shivering. She politely declines.

Folded paper airplanes are scattered on the grass, edges creased and wet and flawed (_but she doesn't care_). Flickering lights spread across the inky sky like a thousand lit candles – beautiful, she thinks, and she can count them all, one by one, if only she can keep her eyes open long enough to remember her purpose.

Her radio plays a song they've never heard of, but they sing along anyway. He messes up at the chorus twice.

They talk about things, silly things that don't matter for what seems to be forever. She wants it to last forever.

(she falls asleep on his lap.)

;;

She wonders, sometimes, if nothing is real and everything was in her head all along. If she can just blink, _once twice_ and it will all disappear.

She takes a deep breath, blinks. _One. Two._

(the _buzz-buzz-buzz_ stays.)

;;

"Can I ask you something?"

"—mm?"

"Do you think we can do it?"

He sets down the bow. "Do what?"

"Be together."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

She shakes her head and raises her fingertips, trying to reach the cotton candy clouds but she just can't seem to do it, can't climb high enough to touch the surface.

"I don't know, honestly." she finishes, barely a whisper, and it leaves something bitter in her tongue that she can't pinpoint. The taste lingers on for the next few days.

(they don't mention it again.

maybe they're just scared.)

;;

Once, he helps her with math homework.

("I didn't know you were good at math." she comments, head throbbing and tired.

He laughs, and it cheers her up, just a little. "Neither did me.")

He shows her lined notebooks with his lopsided handwriting all over it – tiny numbers and letters and incomprehensible phrases bleed into the paper, and she listens to him explain for hours as she tries her best to understand.

At the end of the day, she doesn't.

She thinks math could be as hard as life, sometimes.

He agrees to help her out some more, maybe tomorrow.

She gets an eighty-six on her next test, and they hug and watch tv and eat brownie ice cream in celebration.

Late at night, when the warmth still lingers, she is left to wonder.

;;

Her parents don't come home tonight.

She thinks she should've seen it coming, as she takes down the welcome sign and shoves the cake into the freezer, slips out of the pretty blue dress and into floral pajamas.

There's nothing good on tv. The leftover brownie ice cream is long gone, now, so there's nothing to eat either.

She lies on the couch, legs and arms dangling.

Finally, she caves in.

She calls him.

;;

They go out to the park and sit on the swing sets, legs kicking the sand underneath.

She holds her breath, looks away from him and tries to hide her face.

He already knows.

;;

"What are we?" she asks from under the blanket, the dim nightlight barely illuminating their faces.

Their hands are tangled together, the soft buzzing filling her ears as he stumbles for an answer. Something stirs up inside her – something she can't understand. Everything becomes confusing when it comes to him&her&their perfection, after all. She kind of hates it.

He smiles. "We're us."

She doesn't think anyone can come up with a better answer than that.

;;

She wakes up with a heart drawn on her palm.

(and a moustache under her nose, but that's not the point.)

;;

When she whispers _i love you_ softly to his ear, one afternoon as they walk home, neither of them is too surprised. They love each other – isn't that obvious enough already?

He presses their lips together briefly, for real and she doesn't feel any different than how she's always felt, when she's around him – happy&joyous&free&perfect, and not any different when he pulls away, and they laugh on the rest of their way home.

;;

They return to the school's overgrown park, where they first met. There is a beehive hidden behind the trees that only they know about, and he tries to steer away from it because he's always been afraid of bees.

(last month, it didn't work out too well.)

She hums, _tap-tap-taps_ her fingertips against the fence to the buzzing bees and sings, an upbeat and unfittingly themed song about swords and love songs that don't actually include the words _i love you_ beyond the _i love_, and someone named Lawrence. It's supposed to mean something, she informs him, though in the end she doesn't quite understand what it is herself.

;;

Later that day, she asks, "are we more than friends now?" because she's honestly still not sure about that.

He looks at her. "Maybe."

She throws pillows at him, and he leaves.

"We're still us." she decides, just before closing her eyes to sleep.

;;

Ponzu&Pokkle officially begins the very next day.

Nobody bats an eyelash, not like when Kurapika&Kuroro starts (and ends, exactly one hundred and seventy nine days later, with yells and screams and tears), or when Shizuku&Shalnark first held hands.

And, to be honest, they're right. Nothing really changes.

(_we're kind of boring, aren't we_?)

They hold hands under the table and there's this occasional thing where they kiss because they can, (most of which ending with giggles or their teeth bumping into each other, but still.) and sometimes, they sit down in front of the tv and eat ice cream and just talk, and Anita says that's what couples do, but.

Nothing really changes.

(not really.)

;;

He never kisses her when she's asleep.

("Because it's illegal, duh.")

;;

They're looking out from the balcony, spinning flashes, blurs of bright lights and every shade of yellow spread out under them, under the starry skies and she doesn't imagine it being any more perfect than it already is.

(_forever_?

_always_.)

She takes his hand.

;;

**suddenly i realize how ooc they are in the middle of writing this— oh well. they've known each other for a pretty long time in this story, anyway, so obviously things are going to change.**

**i kind of like this, actually. despite how corny it is XD**

**review?**


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